


Blossoming Dreams of Erised

by Melzious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Will update relationships later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melzious/pseuds/Melzious
Summary: This is a rewrite of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.From the moment he was born, Neville knew, he just knew that he had to find a away to atone to how he had damaged his parent's minds, left them in such a fragile state by being the Boy Who Lived. Yet, he might find this to be a little hard with an unjustified fanbase, crippling anxiety, and enemies lurking around every corner. Oh, yes, this was going to be hell.
Kudos: 3





	1. Exceptionally (Un)Ordinary

Neville woke up early in the morning, much to his chagrin. The daylight shone through his window, letting slight shadows be cast upon the walls and the floor. Most figured he would be excited to begin his introduction into the world of magic, not counting the past experiences he had with it--which, to say the least, were...eventful. He would be leaving around 10 in the morning. It was-he glanced at the clock mounted on the wall opposite of his bed-7 a.m. Great. Just Great. Now he would have more time dreading the attention he would get from other wizards.

The lightning bolt scar on his forehead would surely attract attention, the attention he despised. Neville was a quiet and unsure child, constantly doubting what others said and looking for hidden meanings. The world knew his name before he even knew it himself. Once his grandmother explained this to him, he remembered being struck with awe, though this soon dissipated. He hated his past. He hated his upcoming future.

He...didn’t exactly hate himself, but he surely was not proud. After all, he was responsible for the fate of his parents, their ill state. The life that was robbed from them, all because he, for some reason, drew the darkest wizard of all time to him.

He remembered asking to get his hair cut so his bangs would cover the jagged scar on his forehead. Naturally, his grandmother denied his request due to her stern opinion that it was a source of pride. Perhaps for her, but not for Neville. Determined to do everything to help him be perceived as normal, he took a pair of kitchen scissors and played trial and error with his hair. Eventually, with the floor of his room covered in strands of uneven hair, he achieved his goal. Though, the rest of his hair resembled a shaggy dog’s coat. He stared into the mirror before his lips quirked up into a small smile. He looked ridiculous! Not like the _Boy Who Lived_. He looked plain with slight unusuality. He was only Neville.

His grandmother walked in and found him by the window tending to a plant with great care. She said a few words that Neville did not remember. He only remembered her rage at finding a ragged boy in place of her usually well-groomed grandson. She was a seething kettle filled with boiling water. 

“Stay here, and don’t do **anything** until I come back with a hair growth serum.”

Neville cast his eyes down before letting out a shaky whisper. “I just wanted to feel normal. Not anxious and uneasy from all the attention I receive, from all the attention I don’t want or deserve.”

Her eyes softened. Of course, she and her grandson had very different ideas on how he should feel and present himself, but she loved him with all her heart. Someone in her care should never shake with anxiety if she could prevent it. She would back off just this once. She repeated herself once more with a gentler tone. “Stay here. I’ll come back with some hair serum so I can give you a proper haircut. Boy, did you even look in the mirror while you did it? You look like Harris’s dying dog. This won’t do at all. Clean up this mess and if I find a single strand on the floor, you’ll be on kitchen duty after your uncle comes over for dinner next Tuesday and you know he’s an absolute pig.”

Neville’s smile returned in response. Though her last words were framed as an order, they were spoken with humor and light-heartedness that was rare in her. It was a change beyond welcomed.

Despite this development, the scar still posed a problem. When the wind blew, it was clearly visible and almost seemed to shine from the sunlight. Even if the sky was cloudy or there was no breeze, Neville had a bad habit, that he regrettably could not break with any amount of effort, of pushing his bangs out of his face. The hair tickled his scar and made it itch and itch and itch. It seemed as if the world was out to make his life harder-that came as no surprise. It still aggravated him.

To fill the time between waking up and leaving for Diagon Alley, he fingered for a certain book on his worn shelf. Ah, ha! Found it. His fingers traced the cover of a book titled “Winaris’s Field Guide to Medicinal Herbs and Remedies”. This book was relatively old, both old in his possession and publication. Some of the information was outdated and incorrect to a degree, but Neville didn’t mind a bit. He loved herbology, especially the medicinal subcategory of it. It was interesting, yes, but an inkling of Neville hoped that he would one day be able to create his own remedies. Remedies for the mind. Remedies for his parents.

God, he wished with all his heart, all his being, that he could restore his parents to their former state.

Time seemed to pass all too quickly. A call from his grandmother’s voice jolted him out of his emersed state. It was time to leave for Diagon Alley. Neville slowly descended the stairs and turned to enter the living room. A foot impatiently tapped, a clear sign of the excitement his grandmother had. She stood in front of the fireplace, a small brown bag clutched in her hand. “Took you long enough, Neville. Come now, we should leave before it gets crowded. No doubt there’ll be a ton of students waiting to get their grubby hands on books and supplies.”

Neville nodded and stepped into the fireplace instinctually just all the flames reared up and turned a hue of brilliant jade. His body seemed to stretch and jolt until his breath cleared and he stumbled out a new fireplace coughing. He managed to heave out, “A-ack. I’ll never get used to that. I hate Floo powder.”

His grandmother placed a hand on his shoulder. “You will in time. Now stop your hacking, we have a list to get,” she grumbled, though delivered it with no trouble or hitches in her breath. How many times had she traveled like this? Neville couldn’t imagine doing with as much ease as she did, no matter how long he lived.

The two Longbottoms stepped out into the fresh breeze, the chill tickling their exposed skin and ruffling their hair. Neville instinctively placed his palm over his forehead even though there was no one in sight. He took in the sight of all the shops around him. He had been to Diagon Alley before but this time seemed different somehow. More frightening or intriguing, maybe. From this point on, he was part of the wizarding world. His family were wizards and witches, yes. Foremost, however, they were his family. Neville couldn’t consider them as wizards completely. That seemed like a completely foreign entity.

His eyes settled on a large building of white pillars. The pillars were, without a doubt, sturdy even though they looked crooked and dilapidated. It was a confusing aesthetic. No comment came from Neville about this. A small wave of relief passed over him. His grandmother already had an adequate amount of money to pay for all the supplies on his list. There would be no entering a place that seemed as if it could collapse at any moment. This was untrue, of course, but it nestled itself firmly in the back of his mind. That and it would be crowded. Merlin, he despised crowds. Well, despised did not quite give off the right connotation. He _dreaded_ crowds.

He took a deep breath. At least they got here early. He figured if they went to the shops that would be busier later in the day, they could save effort, time, and anxiety. Flourish and Blotts was bound to be the busiest as first years along with all the other years would be filing in to buy and carry an absurd amount of textbooks-most students would probably skim through the less exciting chapters and books. Next would be Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, a shop necessary to buy all the unique (obscure) and interesting (intimidating) ingredients needed for potions.

He relayed this information to his grandmother and she gave a small hum in response. The sound of their footsteps resounded against the corridors of the alley, letting a light echo bounce through the air. The sound came to a halt abruptly as the pair paused in front of a wooden door faintly illuminated by the light of lanterns even though the day was new and the sun shone bright. Neville did not have to look up to recognize that this was Flourish and Blotts-the bookstore. This was one time of multiple visits to Diagon Alley; after all, it is a staple in the wizarding community.

Pushing open the door, the chime of a bell rang clear. Emerging from behind a bookcase housing a generous amount of novels, frizzy white hair stood up to a comical degree. The owner of the hair, an elderly woman with square glasses, tilted her head and smiled. “Welcome? First year, I presume? What can I help you with, dear?”

His grandmother strode forward, confident as a lioness. Pulling out the list of supplies that came along with Neville’s Hogwarts letter-how was it perfectly neat? Not folded at all? It looked akin to clothes straight from the ironing board. He kept his mind focused on this thought, trying to push out the building rush of “what ifs” that was threatening to crash in.

The woman’s eyes darted towards Neville while she was in the middle of speaking to his grandmother for a second-a second too long. You were supposed to make eye contact with the person you were talking to or look at the ground at the very least. Oh, Merlin. Was the scar peeking out from under his bangs? Did she know? Would she say something?

A tug on his sleeve jolted Neville back into the present realm of awareness. Neville nodded as he half paid attention. He faintly gathered that his grandmother was going to the other shops to pick up supplies. He let out a small sigh. The woman did not say anything. He was in the clear, but perhaps not for long. Neville knew she could tell his anxiety was building. Despite their disagreements, she picked up emotional cues. However, this would mean he would be left to fend for himself. He bit his lip but parted ways with her anyway. This would be a test run, a prep course. He knew he would have to deal with swarms of students at Hogwarts. It was inevitable that they would find out that he was “The Chosen One”.

Letting his feet guide him where they wished, he ended up staring at a building set in bricks of a silvery-blue hue. The windows were rounded and a warm orange glow shone through them. Ollivander’s. The gold letters burned into his mind. Neville pressed his palm against the cool glass, lingering only for a moment before hastily jerking back.

Would he have been an energetic boy, bouncing around to get his first wand? Would he have had his own wand, instead of a stolen wand? His grandmother said he was meant to have the wand. That his father would have given it to him if he could. It wasn’t a gift. It was stolen from his incapacitated father, just like he was robbed of the life he could have had, instead condemned to a bed in St. Mungo’s, surrounded by strangers.

The taste of salt slipped into Neville’s mouth. He brought his fingers under his eyes and felt a wet tear trail onto them. Huh, he hadn’t even realized that he was crying. Rubbing the tears away from his eyes, he took in a salty inhale.

If this day was this difficult to get through, he couldn’t imagine what Hogwarts would be like.

Oh, wait...he could.

It was going to be hell.


	2. Train of Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the arrival to Hogwarts approaching, Neville has never felt so alone or apprehensive, but maybe it won't be so cold after all

Neville stood amidst a sea of bustling people, a majority of them muggles. The air seemed to tingling and vibrate with the excitement of young children going on their first train ride and of the anxiety of adults rushing to get aboard on time. There was so much movement, so much activity, so much going on. The station was filled with people-yet Neville felt so cold and isolated.  
  
His grandmother squeezed his hand. Neville tried to cling on tighter. Yes, it was pathetic, almost like a toddler. Neville couldn’t bring himself to care. The wave of nausea was far too mighty. The warmth from the worn and calloused hand disappeared all too quickly. A gentle nudge on his pack scooted his rooted feet forward towards his new life, his new fate. Neville’s eyes couldn’t seem to burn holes into the barrier between platform nine and platform ten to make it disappear, to give him a way out back to the comfort of his home. Clenching his fists around his cart, he whispered, “You can do this. Mum and dad wouldn’t be proud of a coward.”

Behind him, his grandmother’s face scrunched up. The boy blamed himself far too much for the state of Alice and Frank Longbottom. If she could, she would take all the weight off his shoulders and push it on herself, despite neither of them needing to carry the blame. Lady fate chose Neville to be the Chosen One. She knew Neville would have gladly traded his life and would still trade his life for time to be reversed. Was not death a mercy compared to being a soul trapped in a fractured mind and body? The answer to this question she did not know, nor want to know.

Her boy, her grandson would be leaving her in just a few moments. He would be okay. He was a strong boy. Nervous and insecure, but strong nevertheless.

Oh merlin, he had to do this. Neville gulped and rushed forward before he could change his mind. His stomach churched before he felt a shift in the air around him. Platform nine and three-quarters. He was here. He would soon be breathing Hogwarts air. In front of him, the red and black paint of the Hogwarts Express held an unearthly shine. Almost as if imbued with mag-Neville let out a slight huff under his breath. What a silly observation. Of course, it would hold that aura.   
  
In his stupor, he forgot to move out of the way. He stumbled forward as something collided with his back. Struggling to catch his balance, he failed his hands before a firm grip on his arms steady him. Between his embarrassment and swirling vision, he could only make out frizzy, dark brown curls.

“I am so sorry; but, you really shouldn’t have been standing there! You or someone else could have gotten injured or the books scuffed! You are aware of how much money some of us spent on those, aren’t you.”

Swallowing spit, Neville rubbed his head before meeting eyes with a girl who looked his age. Sheepishly he cast his gaze to the side before remember his members and looking back at the girl. “I’m really sorry. I am, I swear. I didn’t mean to-I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

The unnamed girl’s eyes widened for a split second, realizing her demeanor may have come off as condescending. She shook her head and offered out one outstretched hand. “Hermoine. Hermoine Granger,” she stated, rather than said, with a slight puff of the cheeks.

Neville let a small smile grow on his face. She was cute, this girl. Not in the attractive sense-no, no she wasn’t ugly but she was rather more noticeably cute in the welcoming sense. Her eyes reminded him of spiced tea. A bit intense if you don’t know what to expect at first, but warm and inviting after you get over the rush of flavor.

Paralleling her introduction Neville grasped the outstretched hand gently and greeted, “Neville. Neville Lon-” he elected not to say his last name. “Neville. Just Neville. Thank you and nice to meet you Miss Hermoine Granger.”

The girl, now named Hermoine, cocked her head. With her frizzy hair and round eyes, she looked almost akin to a cocker spaniel in this moment. “Hmm, okay Neville, just Neville. Nice to meet you too! We should find a compartment before all the decent ones are taken up.”

“Huh?! You want to find a compartment-a compartment with me?”

Hermoine’s giggle resounded through the air. “Of course. We are friends, aren’t we?

Friends. That word sounded so warm coming from her mouth, so sincere. Perhaps Hogwarts was not going to be so horrendous after all, or, at least, he would not have to brave it on his own

* * *

The train neither jolted nor jumped, it was smooth, quite unlike Neville’s knotted stomach. His cheek rested against the cool glass of the windowpane as he listened to Hermoine chatter excitedly. He would have loved to pay close attention to what she was saying; yet, his anxiety created a loud, unpleasant hum in his ears that made it hard to concentrate. He wondered how the girl could be so open and friendly to a new experience, especially after he learned that she came from a family of muggles.  


Little did he know that Hermoine was anxious as well. She rambled to try and tune out of noise and feeling of churning in her mind and stomach. She knew it was a habit some, well, most found annoying. Her parents even chastised her for it. She couldn’t help it though. Hermoine also talked about the coursework to bury her concern about her lack of experience and background. She assumed Neville was much more inclined to magic than she was, especially after she deduced his true background, Oh, yes, she was observant, so keen that she could upon his little slip.  


The boy sitting across from her was the Boy Who Lived. He was mentioned in the books she picked up for extra reading, security to help cushion the blow of having no magical knowledge before a couple of months ago. His name was particularly memorable in Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. His slip up of letting the first syllable of his last name leave his lips didn’t escape the grasp of her attentive nature. She didn’t mention it though. She wouldn’t mention it. He was like her in a sense. The slight, nearly unnoticeable quiver his voice. The darting of his eyes. His awe at her proclamation of friendship. All of it. He thought he didn’t belong to her, just like her. Though they both were not in an ideal state, she couldn’t help but find comfort in this fact. In fact, she felt warm. She wasn’t alone.   


She tilted her head and pointed to the small box-like cage filled with foliage. “What’s in the cage? It’s too small to be an owl?”  
Neville perked up, eyes seeming to glow a tint brighter. “This,” he introduced, “Is my toad, Trevor! Would you like to see him?”  


Hermoine pursed her lips ever so slightly. She was not fond of creatures that secreted mucus, but as his friend, it was her duty to make him feel more comfortable. She gave a stunted nod of her head. Neville grinned and she couldn’t help but think that although his smile seemed a bit out of place, it was quite pretty, especially since this one formed so effortlessly on his lips. A creak resounded through the air as the door to the cage was opened. Neville made a few noises that sounded vaguely of chirps with his hands cupped out. Only a moment later, a murky green toad jumped into his hands. Neville brought his cupped hands up higher so Hermoine could get a better view. His chest puffed out in pride. “Isn’t he a handsome young sir?”  


Hermoine nodded. “Yes, yes indeed. A very stripping young lad.”  


Neville opened his mouth to reply, but only a gasp escaped. The cheeky bastard of a toad leapt from his arms out through the door of the open apartment. Trevor’s hops were graceful and powerful as he moved with speed. In this instance, Neville regretted giving his toad such a superb diet.  


Hermoine gulped, sputtering out, “We have to catch him!”  


Neville nodded before frantically pushing himself off the set and jumping into pursuit of Trevor. The two children shared slight communication as they peered into passing compartments. They avoided going in or dwelling in most because the other students looked far more intimidating than they were ready or willing to handle. Hasting their search they happened upon a compartment with a rather unimposing pair of boys. One with unruly raven hair and another with ginger hair and face dusted with freckles. Hermoine knocked on the compartment before the two filed in. At this point, Neville feared Trevor would never return to him. He held back a slight sniffle, before inquiring, “Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?”  


They both shook their heads. Neville hung his. He whispered. “I can’t find him. I keep losing him!”  


The black haired boy grimaced and offered a pathetic reassurance, “He’ll show up.”  


“Well....if you see him.” Hermoine gently led the round-faced boy out of the compartment.  
Out of eyeshot, but not out of earshot, they both heard, “Don’t know why he’s so bothered. If I brought a toad, I’d lose it as quickly as I could.”  


Neville quickened his pace and ceased listening. He bit his lip and rubbed his eyes. Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder. Shrugging it off Neville said with a tinge of anger, “How could he say that? You don’t treat your animals, your companions, your familiars with such blatant disrespect!”  


Hermoine’s hand twitched at her side, aching to be placed back on Neville’s shoulder, but she let it rest at her side. “We’ll find Trevor. Or he’ll find you. He knows you love him, so he’ll come back. Trust me.”  


Neville offered a shaky smile, hope replenished slightly. “Let’s go back to our apartment. You’re right he’ll turn up.”  
And so they walked back to their apartment, Neville’s hair parting slightly so his scar was visible to a boy with ashen hair a pale skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Trevor, may I implore you not to be a cheeky little bastard boy?


End file.
